


It started with a hammer...

by caliburn



Series: The Aquila and Simcha Chronicles [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Sentinel, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Child Abuse, F/M, Sentinel/Guide Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7149110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliburn/pseuds/caliburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton and Darcy Lewis had very different childhoods, one beaten and joining the circus and the other a beloved daughter achieving her best in school.  Then they both end up in a dead end New Mexico town where something fell out of the sky...</p>
            </blockquote>





	It started with a hammer...

**Author's Note:**

> This was the one story I managed for the Little Black Dress challenge in July 2015.

From the moment of her birth Darcy Esther Lewis was bathed in love. At eight days old she was borne into the synagogue in triumph as her father prayed the _Aliyah_ and danced as he named her Yakira bat Aviv because she was precious beyond all the jewels of the Earth. The whole congregation blessed her, her spirit glistened and glowed, her channels blossomed and her gifts gleamed. 

 

In contrast Clint Barton was birthed into darkness, fury and strife. A second young mouth to feed in a cold home where booze was more important than any child, or wife. There was no celebration at his arrival home, just the half-hearted embrace of a mother too beaten down to care but aware at least that she could not feed him herself, even though formula would stretch threadbare finances to breaking point. His big brother was excited for a few days about the new baby but soured quickly over sharing his mother’s attention, such as it had been. For long nights he was left alone, whether awake or asleep, and often his pram was abandoned in the shade for all the hours of daylight. In isolation he strained for stimuli, stretching and reaching beyond the trashed yard to the sky. 

 

For the first few toddler years of his life Clint played and learned and grew like most children, although quieter than most and already a skilled climber and a world class hider. Locals from Waverley commented on his stillness to his mother, just as they commented on his bruises to each other. 

 

Things changed just after his fourth birthday, which had gone unremarked apart from a single cupcake and a truck with three wheels. The Waverley County Sheriff knew the Barton home, not a single member of the force needed directions to the ragamuffin house. On a cold Wednesday night the sirens tore through light snow, hoping that this time Kitty would press charges as the screams had been phoned in by four separate neighbours. 

 

The EMT’s pulled in at the same time, racing into the house where a small figure huddled on the floor, blood tricking from his head.

 

“Male, 4 years old. Blunt force trauma to skull, neck immobilised and line in, mask on due to breathing difficulties, ready to transport.”  
“Sibling, 7, fracture to arm, query ribs and multiple contusions, ready to transport.”  
“Female, 25, probable rib fractures, suspected broken nose and zygomatic arch…”

 

The Sheriff looked at the sobbing woman, tears and blood covering her face as she watched the paramedics prepare her sons for transport as two burly officers dragged her yelling husband out of the house. Inside he prayed that now he could make the charges stick.

 

@-;---

 

In the two years since he’d been taken off by ambulance Clint had gotten even quieter. His father had served a year for assault but his mother had taken him back as soon as he was released, believing all the promises that his sons knew were lies. He was looking forward to starting school, his father may have spent all his time calling him stupid but at least he would be away from the toxic environment of his ‘home’. He had to attend a special test before starting but hadn’t heard anything about his results until he entered his first grade class and two smiling faces greeted him behind Miss Hannah his teacher. 

 

 

“Hello Clint.”  
“Hi Ms Hannah.”  
“Clint, these people would like to talk to you about the test you took.”  
“OK.”  
“Clint is it?”  
“Yes.”  
“My name is David and this is my wife Jessica.”  
“Hello, did I do bad on the test?”  
“No Clint, not at all. Actually we were impressed by how you did.”  
“Really?”  
“Yes, especially since you can’t hear very well.”  
“I always wear my aid, promise. Even though daddy says it makes me look like even more of a retard than I am.”

 

He flushed at that then toed at the ground.

 

“Not supposed to say that.”  
“You are not a retard Clint, it is a horrible word.”  
“I know Ms Jessica.”  
“Good. I am a Sentinel, do you know what that means?”  
“You can see really far and hear and things. Daddy says you are all freaks, but he gets things wrong all the time.”  
“I think he does honey.”  
“Is David your Guide?”  
“I am her guide.”  
“Why did you want to talk to me?”

 

The pair were impressed by the caution and incredulous tone in the child’s voice, flat accent hiding the slight loss of pronunciation from his deafness.

 

“The test showed us that you could be a Sentinel when you grow up.”

 

The tow headed child narrowed his eyes at them, body language closing down in a manner that was truly heart-breaking in one so young.

 

“But I can’t hear much, how can I hear lots?”

 

They settled down, this was not going to be their usual introductory talk.

 

@-;---

Clint had almost finished first grade when another tremor shook him. Barney had answered the door when he saw the blue lights outside, they may have been taught to pretend that nobody was home to most visitors but the police were different.

 

“Hello Barney.”  
“Hi Sheriff, they ain’t here.”  
“I know son, can I come in?”

 

Clint crept out his hidey-hole under the stairs, he could hear the sadness and worry in the man’s voice and knew nothing would be the same again.

 

@-;---

 

Almost exactly three years after landing in County Care the Barton boys were on the move again. The S/G centre should have taken them, but Hank Barton’s loudly voiced opinions on the ‘freaks’ had kept his younger son’s name out the official files, David and Jessica had been swept up by an alphabet agency, and Ms Hannah had left to get married after Clint’s first semester so no-one knew to call.

 

A cold Sunday night, March arriving with a gust from the Arctic, and they slipped onto the Showgrounds. Barton boys needed to stay together, over-hearing that they were to be separated had led to their dark night flit.

 

Carson’s Carnival of Travelling Wonders had spent a fortnight checking rigging and new acts before getting ready to move off. Old man Carson was ready to chase off the 10 and 12 year olds but saw something in the younger that reminded him of his own brother, so long lost in Vietnam. He could shelter this Sentinel at least from the military and certain death.

 

@-;---

 

‘Four months!’ Barney fumed. Four months and his dumbass deaf little brother had already fallen on his feet. He had to clean out animal cages and run errands for the clowns while Clint got to learn cool tricks. It’d been HIS idea to join the circus, it wasn’t fair. He ignored how quiet Clint had gotten, ignored the bruises and marks on his too thin frame. He even pointed out Clint’s hiding places to the Swordsman and pretended not to see the lash marks that would forever pattern his brother’s skin. No, if Clint wanted to get ahead he’d have to do it without Henry Barnabus Barton Jnr’s help.

 

@-;---

 

Runaway to Headline act took four years; blood, sweat and tears forming memories, scars and callouses. He could hit anything; standing, blindfold, on a horse or swinging on a trapeze made no difference to his aim.

 

Clint had tried to stay close to Barney but as the Swordsman and Trickshot took up more and more of his time he was pulled away. Barney grew strong, leading a team of Roustabouts and helping manage their trips from show to show. He lost his virginity to an acrobat called Tallulah on his sixteenth birthday, she moved on after the winter rest and Clint didn’t look for anyone else, something inside him was seeking and no-one in the circus seemed to meet what he needed. He latched on to the mysterious D’Linda when she appeared on the site one night in Louisiana. No-one had hired her but after tasting her gumbo no-body asked her to leave. She swept the too thin teen under her muscular wing and mothered him as best he could, even though he tried hard to keep himself apart. Despite his loneliness he stayed away from the cheap tin-bath booze that flowed through the camp even when Old Man Carson was eyeing him curiously but not saying anything, just sighing deeper and deeper.

 

@-;---

 

Friday 1st August 1996 started like a normal performance day. Clint took a cold shower to ease his muscle aches and grabbed a protein heavy breakfast before hauling on practice tights and heading into the Big Top. Three hours of drill left him just enough time to change into costume and use his cosmetic skills to hide his bruises and paint his face before others descended to beg him to paint them up. The fans in the tent merely moved hot air around rather than cooling the centre circle where all the lights hit, dull sparkle hiding sweat stains.

 

Two millimetres off target while suspended from the silks left Clint hiding a freshly split lip before the evening show, carefully chewing his dinner around two loosened teeth and applying the ice pack that his 'landlady' had tossed him. The show itself was perfect, a full house spending generously at the sideshows and food stalls as well as cheering around the ring. Summer carnivals always made bank for the Circus and all the crew pitched in, talking to customers, running games and performing before passing the hat – sweet, sultry summer nights.

 

In the small hours Clint realised he had left his chalk in the ring, beneath the trapeze climb. Checking that D’Linda was solidly asleep he climbed out his pallet bed, pulled up his threadbare cotton pants and padded barefoot back to the Big Top.

 

“Damn it Clint.”

 

Three men surrounded the thin teenager and he raised his hands to the trio that dominated his life. 

 

“Should’ve stayed in bed boy.”  
“I’ll go…”  
“Too late.”

 

He looked to his brother, who turned to the money and ignored his silent pleas. Barney had a way out, he was taking it.

 

@-;---

 

Old Man Carson knew his Circus and when he woke to find a Golden Eagle on his table he knew exactly who needed his help. He hauled an ancient jumper over his old bones and grabbed his cane, hitting on Hugo the Strongman and D’Linda’s doors as he went past. The bird looked ragged and ungainly as it hopped on the ground, shuffling from foot to foot in the tent entrance. Hugo hit the jenny controls and the lights came on, revealing a broken figure with dull blond hair being preened by the enormous creature. 

 

“Damn, he’s online.”

 

Carson looked to D’Linda who was tying back her braids and Hugo who was wringing his hands.

 

“Hugo, call 911. Sentinel emerging due to trauma. D, you got any ideas?”

 

The beads in her hair rattled as she nodded imperiously at the old man.

 

“Grandmere was a _Mambo Asogwe_ Guide – I got dis.”

 

 

@-;---

 

1st November 1997

 

Halloween was a pain-in-the-ass, Halloween on a Friday night was hell, and the only worse option was the years it actually happened on a Saturday. However, this Halloween had been the best since Phillip Coulson had finally outgrown his Captain America costume.

 

He watched his strangely alert captive through the one-way glass, still astonished that the Mercenary they had been tracking was actually an under-age Circus attraction who had offered himself up after nine months of dedicated avoidance.

 

“Cheese.”  
“Marcus.”

 

His black leather clad boss could surprise most of his agents, but not his ‘good-eye’, they had known each other too long for that.

 

“So this is him.”  
“Yeah.”  
“The Amazing Hawkeye.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Merc who kills exclusively molesters, murderers and rapists.”  
“That’s him.”  
“The one that Wade Wilson helped us find because, and I quote ‘he’s better than chimichangas but needs more help than I do’, unquote.”

 

 

“Yup.”  
“A 17 year old.”  
“Yup.”  
“A deaf seventeen year old.”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“A deaf seventeen year old with a stick and some twine.”

 

A half smirked smile danced across the face of the teenager who had undone his shackles and was now juggling them with his feet up on the table, bright purple post-aurals clearly visible.

 

“Fellas, you could just come and talk to me.”  
“Well, he clearly knows the Merc with the mouth.”

 

As Phil left the observation room he instinctively ducked as a broad winged Golden Eagle swooped over his head.

 

“The hair is going fast enough birdie.”

 

A low chuckle greeted that comment as he entered the room, this would be the most interesting entrance interview he had ever had.

 

@-;---

 

Clint had been both astonished and frustrated when SHIELD had forbidden him from taking active duty assignments until he was officially an adult. At first his argument was that he had been taking jobs since he was sixteen and ran away again from Iowa Counties gentle care, this had not impressed the set of overly parental figures he had gained. Then he argued that he was old enough to enlist, they pointed out he was already beyond basic training and would go mad with boredom. He indicated that he was a mere two months from his eighteenth birthday – Melinda May countered that she’d make it 21 and that most recruits needed a college degree or an active tour to progress beyond being mere Specialists who simply obeyed orders. That this last was not exactly one of Clint’s strengths hit the mark and he subsided into sulking acceptance.

 

 

Phil’s first act had been to call in expert help from the S/G centre. Initially they had dismissed Clint due to his hearing aid, but a short fly past from his fully corporeal spirit guide had brought Ellison and Sandburg to New York

 

“I’m a what?”  
“An Alpha.”  
“I’m fucking deaf!”  
“From trauma, yes. The dial is still there, you just can’t access it.”  
“I thought you needed all 5 to be a Sentinel at all, don’t Alpha’s have a sixth or something?”  
“When you bond, you will.”  
“Bond? Don’t be stupid. I’m a Carney kid with good aim and an education that stopped at the fifth grade. What kind of self-hating fucked up Guide would have me?!”

 

Ellison barely refrained from head-slapping the kid, only the long long list of old scars (and Blair’s immediate frown and sour scent of disapproval) stayed his hand. Melinda was more direct and folded the suddenly shy boy into her embrace.

 

“You are a Sentinel. A Protector of the Tribe. You have a true heart and a pure soul.”  
“Pure? You cannot be….”  
“Yes, pure. Even Wade was impressed. He led us to you and you to us because he wanted you to keep that edge, not to be blunted by life. If the vicious brutal _húndàn_ that were your so-called trainers could not break you then you are a diamond – rare, precious and valuable.

 

Clint rolled his head up and closed one eye to focus intently on the determined woman, remembering every avoided hug that D’Linda had directed at him.

 

“You’re mad.”  
“I am perfectly sane. I have the paperwork to prove it.”

 

Finally he smiled, a slight giggle escaping him.

 

“You probably do!”

 

Blair had wanted to hold the damaged youth but was uncertain of how a male presence would be taken, thankfully the sensitive Melinda had been there. She had adopted the young Mercenary on sight, his Spirit Animal flying around her in the corridors simply adding to her formidable reputation. He had been desperate for a rock to cling to, her strength was more appealing than even Phil Coulson’s gentle presence to a soul that had endured so much.

 

@-;---

 

Once Clint accepted his own worth, he started to spread his wings as though his Spirit Guide had truly taken root at last. His training as a Sentinel under the guidance of the USA’s Prime pair had built him up, whilst moving into his ‘mum’s’ spare room had given him back a sense of comfort he had only known when hiding in D’Linda’s trailer. Occasionally he slipped up and called Melinda ‘Ma’ or _‘Āmā’_ but she had gleefully offered to adopt him formally and he was still considering the option.

 

Book work had been a harder sell than finding out how to use his dials, but he soon realised that it was much easier to learn when you did not have a perpetual low level concussion from beatings and when you had slept in a bed rather than under one….

 

He swept through his GED in a matter of weeks, a previously hidden love of books flourishing in an environment where learning was encouraged rather than disdained. Clint virtually inhaled all the knowledge they could give him, racing through subjects as they attracted him and leaving all his tutors astonished. He was not the first SHIELD recruit they had assisted due to a lack of formal education, he was the first to go from fifth grade to College level inside of six months. They considered military college but opted for him taking the courses outside of their structure as it would not suit him at all. Instead he studied a combination of maths and history that meant he walked in a cap and gown before his 21st birthday, which turned into a raucous celebration of his qualifying straight into level 3 and taking back the Hawkeye call sign under new orders.

 

His formidable Grandmother had come to the house the morning after, waking the three she expected to find as well as the two who had taken up the couches. Her welcome would have been significantly brusquer if she had not come armed with large Starbucks cups – sometimes even her daughter needed coffee rather than tea.

 

“Mama?”  
“ _Zǎo_ Melinda. Feeling well?”  
“Coffee…. Please…..”  
“Have a good night?”  
“Ask the birthday boy….”

 

Clint was leaning in the door of his room wearing a SHIELD shirt inside out and backwards with his hair a porcupine on his head.

 

 _“Zǎoshàng hǎo wàizǔmǔ.”_  
“Apparently beer is good for your accent Clint.”  
“It is not good for my dials…. If it weren’t for Aquila I think I’d have ended up in the closet, or possibly under _Āmā’s_ bed, and I haven’t been there since my last exam!”  
“You should have knocked… are you alright?

 

Andrew pushed past Melinda, careful not to jog her coffee – he liked living with her, and living.

 

“It’s OK now.”  
“Are you tracking?”  
“I’m fine, promise. Honestly if I’d zoned I think you would have had a feathered alarm call.”

 

Aquila preened, the sheer presence of the Spirit Guide still astonished even experienced bonded pairs – many of whom found it difficult to let their Totems materialize even for their partner or close friends. Clint’s Eagle seemed more of a pet, even though he still had not found his Guide and reached his full strength.

 

After running a few drills with the hung over Sentinel Andrew relaxed and accepted his own coffee from the older agent. Phil had crawled off the couch and was drinking a large cold bottle of mineral water from the fridge, his hangovers made his usual caffeine disgusting rather than delicious. Jasper was still asleep, but since rumour had it he had once slept through an actual bomb strike this was not surprising to any of them.

 

“Breakfast? My treat.”  
“Wow, Phil found his wallet – it must be a special day.”  
“Watch it Hawkeye, you’re mine now… and your little birdie too…”

 

@-;---

 

Monday 12 July 2004

 

Darcy threw her cap in the air with a shout of glee, the joy and happiness in the air around her bubbling in her veins like champagne. At her feet her Spirit Guide waved her little arms as well before bringing them together and tossing her head back, tail thumping on the ground to the rhythm of the Guide’s heartbeat.

 

Her gold salutatorian chord bounced against the burgundy robe she wore and flew back over her shoulder as she was lifted and twirled when her cheer squad reached her.

“Wasn’t the sign just a *touch* too much Dad?”

 

Ira shrugged, spraying glitter in an arc as the poster board he was clutching nearly hit two of her fellow seniors in the head. They ducked with a practiced move, Darcy’s dad was known to be an over-enthusiastic supporter of his daughter and her friends. 

 

“My glorious child, Salutatorian, Guide, accepted to Culver University on a Full Scholarship and off to spent time training her skills before heading there….”  
“What your dad means is that you should be lucky I got ahead of the sign-writer.”  
“It was only an idea.”  
“Thanks mom!”

 

A cleared throat behind them and all three turned to face the local Sentinel and Guide pair who had been working with Darcy since they took over the local Pride.

 

 

“You came!”  
“Of course we came….”  
“How could we miss this…?”  
“Some Pride leaders we would be….”  
“Honestly we had to stop the rest from all coming as well….”  
“Not every-day that one of your own graduates….”  
“Second in her class….”  
“And gets ready to head off for training….”  
“With the Prime pair of the Country.”

 

The Lewis’ family’s heads went side to side, taking in the conversation as though they were watching a tennis match. The Pair had bonded so deeply that most conversations with them worked like they were sharing a mind, or possibly a voice box. Their Guides were chattering away with Darcy’s Simcha, all dancing around in pleasure. They were both Burrowing Owls, it was practically unheard of for Sentinels and Guides to share an animal as usually their Spirits were so different but they had been pulled together when Mark was 10 and Alex 4, playmates becoming true mates later on.

 

 

Darcy grabbed Alex around the waist in a hug and then threw herself at the Sentinel who dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. The next year was going to be amazing.

@-;---

 

Tuesday 15 March 2005

 

They were at parade rest. Feet planted shoulder width apart, arms behind their backs and eyes resolutely fixed forward. Fixed on a spot and definitely not following their incandescent boss as he paced across his office.

 

“Was I unclear?”  
“No….”  
“Don’t talk to me Bucephalus,”

 

Amazing how one eye could be far more intimidating than a pair.

 

“Simple orders. Go to Europe, pick up a trail in Paris, follow – confirm the identity of and execute the _Chernaya Vdova._ ”

 

He threw a file onto the thick perspex surface before him and photographs of a striking red-head cascaded over his desk.

 

“Instead I now have a KGB assassin in my basement. Don’t I?”

 

They wisely stayed silent, rhetorical questions were a bad sign.

 

“Hawkeye.”  
“Sir.”  
“Did you have her in your sights?”  
“Yes Sir.”  
“Did you take the shot?”  
“No Sir.”  
“Was there a civilian in the way? A hostage perhaps? A nun who was taking alms to the poor? An orphan child selling matches?”

 

The only thing worse than rhetorical questions was sarcasm, Clint winced inside.

 

“No Sir.”  
“No Sir…. so, why the flying fuck is she here making friends with your Āmā!”  
“I couldn’t.”  
“Couldn’t?”  
“I could not take the shot.”  
“Explain.”

 

Clint pursed his lips for a moment and blinked, a tell to those who knew him. Fury sighed and gestured to the chairs.

 

“Tell me Clint. You always have a reason when people say you are insubordinate, I have never known you to violate orders or leave your nest without a valid rationale.”  
“Aquila.”  
“Aquila stopped you?”  
“Yes… I mean He let me see…. I’d never seen…. I mean….”

 

A distressed Sentinel could make even the most mind blind mundane uncomfortable so Clint’s radio crackling to life surprised exactly no-one.

 

“Clint! Clint? Where are you?”  
“With the Director _Āmā_. It is alright.”  
“Tell him _Chasovoy_.”  
“You sure?”  
“ _Da_.”  
“All of it?”  
“ _Da Chasovoy_ , explain what I cannot.”  
“I will.”

 

Clint stood and walked to a hidden panel on the wall, keying in a code and nodding as the shields activated. He could not fully appreciate the White Noise Generators but Jim Ellison had taught him other ways to check if they had been raised. A true Alpha Prime could work past them but as the only Sentinel at that level within SHIELD had not yet reached that level they were fully secure.

 

“Right. She is a Guide”  
“What? A Guide assassin? Impossible, empaths can’t… I mean….”  
“There’s more.”  
“Go on,”  
“She was born Natalia Anastasia Alianovna in Stalingrad in 1936.”  
“That woman is not 69 years old.”  
“Wait. When she was around 4 she was taken by Polkóvnik Petrovich for the Red Room as a prime candidate. Her parents were killed and her apartment block burned to the ground to hide that she was gone.”  
“Why her?”  
“Her mother was a Romanov. The family had a long history of Sentinels, especially the women… two of the last Grand-Duchesses for example. When they realised she was a Guide they deliberately drove her dormant.”  
“Is that possible?”  
“Only if you can find a truly sociopathic sensitive. She remembers just talking to an older man and then something changed inside her.”  
“Could it have been Johann Fennhoff?”  
“Who? I mean she sketched what she can recall.”

 

He pulled a carefully folded page from the velcroed pocket on his left thigh and handed it to Fury.

 

 

Fury dialled up an image and held up the sketch to the photograph displayed there.

 

“Johann Fennhoff, called himself Faustus. Picked up by Agent Peggy Carter in 1946 when she and the Howling Commandos went looking for Leviathan in Russia. He was calling himself Ivchenko at the time, went with them as a rescued prisoner but ended up helping a Red Room operative named Yelena Belovna gain access to Stark weaponry by gaining control over SSR Director Dooley. Ended up in a crypt cell.”  
“He’d done his harm already then. She remembers playing with a small animal as a child, it’s probably what drew Petrovich to her in the first place – other than her gene pool.”  
“So… what happened next?”  
“Training… brutal training that culminated in a graduation ceremony where they have their tubes tied without anaesthesia.”  
“Sociopathic doctors all over the damn place.”  
“Yeah, she sees herself as a monster. Um, anyway. She was selected for special training at 15 – she remembers him as Yasha but I think she means _Yminy Soldat_.”  
“He’s a myth.”  
“Her recollection is real – metal arm and all. Once she had ‘qualified’ and carried out two successful missions they decided she was too precious a resource to waste and was put on ice – literally. Cryostasis and woken when needed. It was 1955 when she went in and the last wake up was in 1994. Biologically she is 28 but she recalls injections and heals fast so there’s almost certainly some serum involved.”  
“A frozen, Russian super-assassin Guide from before WW2.”  
“She’s probably an heir to the throne as well if I’m honest.”  
“Wonderful. Can she be brought back? Is she yours?”  
“Sister I think… in terms. She’s not my Guide but I saw her damaged Spirit and knew she wanted to die. I cannot kill a Guide, no real Sentinel can.”

 

Phil shook his head and looked at his boss, a whole conversation in a glance.

 

“Damn Blessed Protector Syndrome.”  
“Well, you two brought her home so you are responsible for her.”  
“Pardon?”  
“If you choose a pet you have to walk it Bucephalus. You had a Hawk and now you get a Spider as well.”  
“I’m arachnophobic.”

 

Fury ignored him and simply stared at his archer.

 

“Get Sandburg to check her over.”  
“You cannot order the Prime Guide of America to do anything Sir.”  
“No, but if you ask he’ll be here quicker than Strange can teleport.”  
“Probably.”  
“If he felt her arrive in the country then…”

 

The phone interrupted him and he raised a brow at the pair.

 

“I’ll get them Sir.”  
“You do that. I’ll sit here and pretend I’m in charge.”

 

They got, while the getting was good.

 

@-;---

 

Friday 1st July 2005

 

From the desk of Director Fury:

Agent Clint Barton (Hawkeye), Agent Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow) and Agent Phil Coulson (Bucephalus) now reassigned as Strike Team: Delta.

 

@-;---

 

Thursday 1st September 2005

 

Darcy had had an amazing year. She had mastered her skills and gifts as much as was possible without a bond, even managing to visit the psionic plane with the help of Blair and Simcha. She was now certified as an Assist Guide. She could be called upon to help Sentinels in distress, could bring them from a zone without a risk of bonding or feral behaviours. Alex and Mark had brought her home in triumph, mundanes were not permitted at the home of the Primes of America or else her father would have been there with another sign – he had to content himself with the 12 foot banner across the front of their house!

 

However, now came a new challenge – Higher Education. She was installed in a Guide friendly Dorm and the local Sentinel / Guide centre had been thrilled to have her, letting her have codes to access the meditation rooms whenever she needed them. She had spent a small fortune on text-books and new pens and she was ready….. Psychology here she came.

 

@-;---

 

Saturday 5th May 2007

 

Dear Miss Lewis

Further to our conversation on Wednesday I can confirm that the Scholarship committee and the Board have agreed to your changing your major formally to Social Science.

I hope that you have a good break and we look forward to seeing you for the Semester in September.

Yours sincerely

Professor O’Brian.

 

@-;---

 

Monday 1st June 2009

 

Dear Miss Lewis

Further to our conversation on Tuesday I can confirm that the Scholarship committee and the Board have agreed to your changing your major formally to Political Science. This will be the last change that can be certified without penalty.

I hope that you have a good break and we look forward to seeing you for the Semester in September.

Yours sincerely

Professor Graham.

 

@-;---

 

Friday 21st January 2011

 

Dear Miss Lewis

Further to your request for graduation advice I can confirm that you require six science credits to complete. This can be accomplished by taking two additional classes or an Intern position with one of our Professors. I regret that the classes you took did not count, this should have been explained at the time but was not clarified – I will be looking into this.

There is a position available with Dr Jane Foster, an Astrophysicist who is currently working in New Mexico taking atmospheric readings and star charting. She requires an assistant to monitor readings, do data entry and help with paperwork and grant proposals. Your experience with the S/G centre will be invaluable, she is a partial Sentinel and tends to ignore tasks outside her main purview.

I recommended you for the role and she would be able to meet you on Friday 4th February. I hope this is acceptable. Please mail me back to confirm.

Professor Elizabeth Ross.

 

@-;---

 

Tuesday 24 April 2011

 

Dear Betty

Many thanks again for sending Darcy to me. She has organised me like never before, I can even see the desk surface! I may have to keep her (any idea how???)

I have attached some pictures from the last two nights, very odd. The phenomena is repeating over and over – can you pass them to the department for any ideas?

Hope all going well, if you need to get away from work and/or your dad then I can offer a shitty couch!

Jane

 

@-;----

 

It had been an amazing, if confusing and mixed-up, four months in the desert. Jane had three enhanced senses, sight, hearing and touch. Her diet made it very clear that her sense of taste was, if anything, below mundane levels – either that or she could dial it down to live on pop-tarts and chips. Darcy would wave a mug and plate under her nose every six hours and make her sleep at least every thirty-six, only twice resorting to Guide Voice to force her to rest. 

 

Darcy had always been able to make spreadsheets sit up and beg, her organisation skills known far and wide in the S/G offices where she had been. Jane’s notes were a nightmare. When she had an idea she would start writing on the nearest surface or piece of paper with whatever came to hand. Darcy had transcribed from pizza boxes, the desk top, post-it notes, the local paper and once the mirror in the bathroom in lipstick. Darcy would try to stick a legal pad underneath her hands and a ballpoint pen in them but was only rarely successful, disturbing Jane’s flow could lead to her marching around ranting or else climbing onto the roof and writing her equations in the sand. 

 

Several nights of successive strange lights in the sky had them chasing all over the desert taking pictures and readings, Jane mailing them back to Culver and excitedly jabbering to her own mentor on the phone. Eric had dropped everything and flown out to meet them, hiring a camper to sleep in and demonstrating that apparently all ability to drive was wiped out by the acquisition of a PhD. The three of them then drove like maniacs over the rock and sand of the New Mexico expanse but could not explain what they were seeing.

 

@-;---

 

12th May 2011

SHIELD MEMO – EYES ONLY

Senior Agent Phil Coulson is assigned to New Mexico. He is to form a team made up of the STRIKE force and operational members to investigate atmospheric signs observed by Dr Jane Foster and Dr Eric Selvig. Remain out of sight. Arrival time in Roswell, New Mexico 20:00 tonight.

 

@-;---

 

Message on Clint Barton’s personal phone 01.30 13th May 2011

I’m fine…. Yes I fought off a robbery with a bag of flour but never get between me and my doughnuts. I’ll call you later… might need you down here so pack a bag and restock your quiver.

 

@-;---

 

As if jolting around in the back of the worst sprung camper known to mankind wasn’t back enough, now they were running over hot hobos in the middle of nowhere. Darcy had gotten a very unusual read off him, enough to make her nervous and then Taser him when he seemed to wake up too quickly from the bump they had given him. He kept yelling at the sky and shouting for a hammer – Jane meanwhile had hit one of her focused moments and was trying to take pictures of the ground.

 

With considerable effort Darcy pulled Jane away from the heat engraved pattern on the ground and studied it herself, committing it to memory and snapping a few shots to help.

 

“We need to take him to the hospital.”  
“You said it yourself – he’s hammered.”  
“And run over and Tazed. Medicine is needed here.”  
“You go; I’ll be fine here….”  
“Now Janie.”

 

A hint of Voice and the astrophysicist stood, sulking her way over to the felled behemoth in the middle of the design. It took all three of them to move him, dragging him to the back of the camper and heaving his unconscious bulk into the vehicle. At least there was a hospital in Puerto Antiguo; they did not have to go too far to get rid of their insane find.

 

@-;---

 

The ER had taken their guest with a pinch of salt and a lot of Haldol but finally they were free to head back to the old Car Showroom that served as Astrophysics Central. Darcy printed out the images from the previous night, both of the ground and of the sky, before making coffee.

 

“I think the lensing around the edges is characteristic of an Einstein-Rosen Bridge.”  
“A what?”  
“I thought you were a Science Major.”  
“Political Science Eric… I keep saying it.”  
“Look never mind…. Unless Ursa Minor decided to take the day off….”

 

Darcy let them argue and looked more closely at her newly developed images.

 

“Guys? Does this look like….”  
“A body falling from space?”

 

Darcy and Jane looked at each other in confusion which gave way to understanding.

 

“We need the mad Viking back!”

 

@-;---

 

The newly awake escapee was quickly relocated, by the expedient method of running him over again. This time they hauled him into the camper and took him back to their decimated laboratory – fortunately Jane’s waste of space ex had left clothes behind, and the view was definitely an improvement on cacti.

 

Darcy knew he was not for her, but she had eyes – and Jane needed to dial back her vision a little or she was going to count the pores on his face.

 

“Jane.”

 

A hint of Voice and she spun her sight back down.

 

“Thanks Darcy…. not sure what came over me….”  
“Oestrogen?”

 

Their visitor had pulled on his shirt and after looking between the two women came to kneel before them.

 

“My apologies. I did not realise you were _Formynder_ and _Veilede_. My Lady Mother would have me tanned for such an infraction.”  
“We’re what? I’m a Scientist…”  
“Turn off the PhD Jane. He means Sentinel and Guide.”

 

She turned to him and smiled.

 

“I’m a Guide. Dr Foster is a partial Sentinel. Some of her senses are better than others.”  
“You have the _Stemme_ of those who protect.”  
“ _Stemme_?”  
“Your words, they have power.”  
“Oh, you mean Voice. Yes, I am a trained Guide.”  
“ _Veilede_.”  
“ _Veilede_. Are you hungry? We would like to ask you some questions.”  
“Lady _Veilede_ , I can always eat.”

 

@-;---

 

Darcy was sure that someone was watching her, and not in the ‘hello boobies’ way she was unfortunately used to. They had taken him to the diner and, after a crash course in manners, discovered that his name was Thor and he had been cast out – although they were still a little vague on the reasoning.

Faith, the waitress, came over to chat as she had no-one else to serve, a very unusual occurrence in the only place in town guaranteed not to give you food poisoning.

 

“They’re all out at that Satellite thing.”  
“Satellite?”  
“Yeah…. Some big hunk of metal fell out the sky and they can’t shift it… pulled the bumper straight off Bobby-John’s truck… everyone wanted to see but the government got there and built a wall round it… You study space and that Doc – think it’s aliens?”

 

Jane looked up from wherever she had been in her head.

 

“Not sure Faith…. But I think I want to find out! Quick, back to the shop.”

 

They had been beaten there.

 

A crowd of men and women in black BDU’s and body armour were methodically stripping the building of every scrap of paper, machinery and computers.

 

“Stop…. That’s my work!”

 

An older man in a well cut suit stepped from the throng and lowered his sunglasses to fix the furious scientist in his gaze.

 

“National Security Dr Foster.”  
“National Security just means ‘I don’t want to give you a reason, I’m being a government asshole.”

 

Darcy realised that a full fit was approaching and stepped in front of her furious boss.

 

“Can we have details so that an Inventory can be taken so we get everything back?”  
“Of course… Miss….”  
“Don’t pretend you don’t know.”  
“Very well Guide Lewis… We are from The Strategic Homeland, Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.”  
“You mean you are from SHIELD.”

 

The impassive suit raised an eyebrow and Darcy cheered inside.

 

“Yes. Once the situation has been evaluated we will bring everything back.”

 

Darcy could sense the truth in his words, or at least he believed them to be true – no doubt Senior Agents were taught methods to get around Guides. Then though she lost her composure.

 

“My I-Pod... Really?”  
“We were instructed to take all computer related peripherals.”  
“I need that.”  
“It will be returned.”  
“If anything is missing I can bring down a stupendous force on you.”

 

One of the goons sneered at that, taking in her baggy clothes and knitted beanie before settling his gaze mid-thoracic.

 

“Really? Who you gonna call, the ghostbusters?”  
“No – The Alpha Prime pair.”

 

Even the idiot had enough sense to back away then, no-one messed with Sandburg and Ellison willingly. 

 

The three amigos watched in silence as the paramilitaries got into their SUV’s and drove away, even the shredder had been taken. All they had left were the readings from the night before, whatever was stored on Darcy’s phone, and their insane Viking.

 

@-;---

 

Message on Clint Barton’s personal phone 12.30 13th May 2011

 

So, there is a hammer in a crater in the middle of nowhere New Mexico. Grab your gear, I’ll expect you by 4. Quinjet please, no time for anything else, ask your _Āmā_ to fly you here – I know she wants to be in the backrooms but she’ll do it. Something is hinky. See you soon.

 

@-;---

 

“I am assigned to Administration.”  
“Please _Āmā_.”  
“I do not perform active duty missions for SHIELD. I work in this office.”  
“Phil said ‘hinky’ _Āmā_.”

She stared at her son, then at the photograph of them that was the only personal item on her desk, broad smiles on an under-cover operation bare months before the mission that had destroyed her.

 

“Tarmac, 30 minutes, and file a flight plan.”

 

@-;---

 

By the time Clint and Melinda arrived the skies had well and truly opened. They landed in a muddy puddle surrounded by plastic fences and cameras.

 

“Sir. Ma’am. Agent Coulson is in the Command Module.”  
“I’ll go, Agent May has to return to New York.”  
“My apologies. All flights are now grounded – you were the last ones allowed in.”  
“I need to be back at Headquarters.”  
“Sorry Agent May – it’s not us, this is from the Civilian authorities.”

 

May pulled herself together, glad that she had shed her business suit and donned something more practical. Being on site was part of her worst nightmare – she certainly would not be able to sleep until she was home and sedated.

 

“Sorry _Āmā_.”  
“Let’s see him…. Maybe I can find a terminal and hide.”  
“OK, I should have shielded quarters somewhere, you can hole up there if you need to.”

 

Melinda nodded to her son, the most emotion she allowed in public after her horrific mission in Bahrain. Clint missed his prank playing mum, but he knew her pain – and she was still his _Āmā_.

 

@-;---

 

Sitwell saw movement on the screen and tapped his communicator.

 

“Agent Coulson…”

 

He hit an alarm and the base hit full alert.

 

@-;---

 

“I want eyes up high. With a gun. Now!”

 

Clint grabbed the collapsible bow that Coulson had automatically packed for him and slung his quiver over his back before heading back into the sludge.

 

“He said a gun!”  
“That’s Hawkeye…. no gun.”  
“Really…. from the stories I thought he’d be bigger.”  
“Gentlemen, you are on coms….”

 

They blanched and headed for their positions as Clint leaped into a crane bucket and was lifted into a sniper position over the site. He pulled out a standard broad-head and pulled back to his nocking point, exhaled and waited.

 

The berserker cut through the SHIELD operatives like a knife through butter until he fell to his knees before the hammer that had fallen from the sky. He gripped the handle and pulled with all his might. All the observers held their breath, but yet again it stayed where it was. He fell back into the muck and looked at his hands, a picture of dejection who did not move as he was swarmed, handcuffed and taken for interrogation.

@-;---

 

Coulson came into Clint’s quarters and threw his jacket onto the bunk.

 

“He’s gone.”  
“Pardon?”  
“Dr Foster managed to ‘prove’ that he is her ex-husband. Had ID for him and everything.”  
“Really?”  
“There’s a new hacker on the block. Got him into the system sometime between our first check and him hitting the dirt.”  
“Where are they now?”  
“Sitting on the roof of the showroom, directional mikes are recording.”  
“Good. Get some sleep.”  
“Pardon?”  
“Do not make me pull Pride rank on you… sleep.”

 

Phil sank onto the rickety chair and loosened his tie. He looked up to find Melinda leaning on the door frame and smiling slightly at him.

 

“Annoying isn’t it.”  
“What is?”  
“When you realise that ‘Hawkeye’ of all Agents is the SHIELD Pride-master.”  
“Hey!”  
“We’ve known you too long for you to take offence hon.”  
“True – but you both need sleep.”  
“So do you.”  
“I’m actually completely awake – so is Aquila actually, he’s swooping all over the place and keeping an eye out. You two sleep, I’ll keep watch.”  
“What about....”  
“No nightmares and no drugs _Āmā_ , promise.”

 

@-;---

 

The morning started with an alert through the base and their communicators crackling to life.

 

“Agent Coulson, atmospheric disturbances detected 15 miles northwest.”

 

Phil yawned and stretched on the floor, tapping his com to acknowledge receipt without talking. Clint was stroking Melinda’s hair as she slept, he had carefully lifted her com out of her ear when she had finally dozed off.

 

“Stay alert?”  
“Always… you too. I don’t like risking my Pride.”

 

He shrugged into his jacket and headed out the door to his own quarters, Agent Coulson ready to go.

 

@-;---

 

A little over an hour after Phil and his chosen teams had left the base Clint jerked up out of his partial doze, waking Melinda who immediately sat up to look at her son.

 

“Clint?”

 

He jumped to his feet, head on a swivel, muscles tensing and relaxing as he dumped adrenaline into his system. 

 

“Clint?”

 

Melinda knew what this was, but Clint had never shown it before.

 

“Clint. Look at me.”

 

He bared his teeth, nostrils flaring and hands alternately curling into fists and stretching out to claws. He rooted his feet into the ground and shifted his weight, Melinda could almost see his dials spin up and down as all his senses ran amuck. With a careful hand she cupped Clint’s face and brought his attention to her.

 

“Clint, _gwaai zai_. Look at me… its _Āmā_.”

 

He looked to her but then almost through her as though his gaze was going right through the walls towards the town.

 

“No… focus on me… Clint….. on me…”

 

He pulled away and backed up to the wall, panting to taste the air, looking for a target that only he could sense. Melinda held herself passive, a feral Sentinel often could not recognise family members and any form of challenge had the potential for massive injury.

 

“Need to go….”  
“Where Clint… where do you need to go?”  
“Guide.”  
“There’s a Guide?”  
“Mine.”  
“Your Guide?”  
“Need to go… need out….”  
“Just wait a minute Sentinel… I can help…”

 

She backed away and toggled her com to the medical line.

 

“Sentinel Agent Barton is in a feral state in his quarters… code-niner-niner-alpha-gamma-niner…. authorising action.”

 

@-;---

 

Phil and his team had been brought back to the base before heading straight into the town to protect and clear up. He left Sitwell in charge and headed back to report in and check on his Sniper. He found Melinda standing outside an isolation room watching her child’s monitors with a gimlet stare. He stood at her side and tried to describe what he had seen.

 

“It was amazing, this giant metal robot came out of the sky, blasted everything in sight with a red beam from its head…”  
“Really?”  
“Then the mad Viking ,his three Ren-Faire friends and Xena attacked it and ‘Thor’ was shot down.”  
“Is that when the hammer got involved?”  
“Yes. It flew across the sky and his arm just grabbed it then he got up covered in armour and just… annihilated it.”  
“How?”  
“Pulled down a tornado, and a fire storm and then… boom.”  
“Boom?”  
“Boom!”  
“Where are they now?”  
“Went back to the desert, apparently they needed to hop the sky express.”  
“So, what now?”  
“Now. When your kid wakes up he gets to take charge of a team and take everything back to the good doctor.”  
“Not sure that that’s your best plan…”  
“Why?”  
“He’s still sedated.”  
“He’s shaking it off damn fast, they all do.”  
“So I’ll take him back.”  
“Best way to settle him is let him see the territory. He’ll see that the danger is gone and level out… this isn’t my first rodeo Mels.”  
“First one with my kid Phil… mess this up and you will face me…”  
“I know.”  
“And Natasha…”  
“Yeah.”  
“And Bobbi.”  
“I get the point.”  
“And Jim…”  
“Enough Mels…. I’ll go check your kid.”

 

@-;---

 

After a shower, and an in-depth check on Phil to ensure he wasn’t hiding injuries as usual, Clint headed into the mess to scarf down two MRE’s. Some in the room winced, they weren’t exactly haute cuisine, but others nodded sagely. As soon as it became clear that Sentinels would willingly serve in the military then logistics had begun to make sure that their meals would suit. Sometimes, especially after a zone or after using their senses acutely, there was nothing better than a meal you could guarantee was suitable for the sensitive. One lemon-pepper tuna and one beef ravioli later, feral states ate energy reserves, and Clint tossed the packaging with a Sniper’s aim. He cracked open an enormous bottle of water and logged into the small tablet that Phil had left him.

“Feeling better now?”  
“Hey Jasper, much.”  
“What was that?”  
“Feral state… weren’t you with Phil?”  
“We had the feed piped in. Glad Agent May was here – at least she kept her head.”  
“Her SOP.”  
“Wish it was more common.”  
“From your mouth to Fury’s ears man.”

 

Clint tossed the tablet on the table top and stretched, his top riding up to reveal lean hip bones marked with bruises. Strong wrists were also patterned with strap marks and bruising that was still coming out. He had fought the sedation and ended up tied down until his Āmā had insisted on his release, the straps had simply made his feral state worse. The medical team on-site would be retaking their Sentinel courses – she had reported them all to SHIELD headquarters and the Sentinel / Guide services division. If she could not trust them with her child while she was there, she would not let them near any other fragile Agents.

 

The amount of stress that Clint had placed his muscles under had been enormous but that would wear off. If he could not find out why he had become feral then his operational status was at risk. 

 

@-;---

 

Clint took the lead car, not driving but letting his senses expand over the town and taking it in. He had no baseline for the area but certain things were universal; in small towns, in New Mexico, and after major events. He was looking specifically for things that did not fit into the expected, they would stand out and hopefully give him a reason for his reaction.

 

However, by the time he reached the showroom he had found nothing out of the normal for a community that SHIELD were involved in – they were not typically the usual small town. When they pulled up they were met by the small but fearsome frame of Dr Jane Foster. Her arms were folded and the look on her face was furious.

 

“Finally.”  
“Sorry ma’am, we were held up by…”  
“I don’t particularly care why… I just want my machinery and computers and paperwork, back in there, set up and undamaged.”  
“Yes ma’am.”

 

He turned to the other Agents and gave the signal. They got out their vehicles and started to bring in the confiscated items, Drs Foster and Selvig flapping around them and insisting on accurate placement. Meanwhile Clint dug out a bottle of water, the itemised lists and an I-Pod that he had promised to return personally – Phil had felt bad about taking something that private from a Guide, guessing that the intern used it to help her meditate. Darcy had been watching the parade of ‘jack-booted thugs’ as they carried in boxes and files but came outside when she realised that the one in command of the return had not entered.

 

“Hey… arms!”

Clint turned towards her and froze as Aquila materialised and swooped around the woman before settling on her shoulder. She was equally still and Clint realised what she was looking at as he felt a heavy but soft head rest on his leg, he looked down to see an otter sighing in happiness. 

 

There was no mistake over why he had become feral.

 

He stepped towards her, just as she began towards him, an inexplicable magnetic force pulling them to each other. His drink and her I-Pod were dangling from his hand and he hastily shoved them into his right thigh pouch as he dropped the folder he was carrying. They came to a stop 5 feet apart, just out of touching range.

 

“Sentinel.”  
“Guide.”

 

Their breathing synchronised and they became still as statues, frozen in the moment, aware of what was happening yet still hesitant to take that last step forward.

 

Jane had felt the shift and raced out of the old retailer to pause just between them, partially blocking Darcy from Clint’s view.

 

“Darcy?”  
“He’s mine.”  
“Yours?”  
“Mine….Sentinel.”  
“I’d guess that honey…”

 

Clint growled softly at the unfamiliar Sentinel that was between him and his Guide. He was annoyed but not angry as the Doctor smelt like Pride and Family to his pretty Companion, she was just in the way and he wanted to look more. His growling intensified as one of the STRIKE team came and laid a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Agent Barton…. Report.”  
“Not to you.”  
“Agent Barton… as per SHIELD regulations I am taking command due to your…. due to interference caused by your senses. I must ask you to accompany me back to the base.”

 

Clint hauled his gaze from the women and span to face the ignorant asshole who was trying to take him away.

 

“Do… Not… Touch… Me…”  
“Look Barton… things like this is WHY it is SOP for me to take charge. Are you going to be sensible or do I need to have you sedated and removed.”

 

Now his teeth were bared and his feet ground down into the road to give better balance and a way to spring forward. Dr Foster had pushed Darcy behind her and then came up to at Clint’s right shoulder, instinctively taking his weaker side as her own feral nature presented itself.

 

“Team Eta, form up on leader, configuration Sigma-Gamma, await instructions to deploy.”

 

Jane and Clint backed up slightly, heads swivelling to make sure that they were not flanked by the black-clad soldiers. Darcy ended up leaning on the large windows, Eric sidling out to stand next to her in collaboration. He laid an arm across her shoulders and pulled her close, he exuded fatherly feelings to help keep the Sentinels calm. She leaned her head onto him, her comfort also helping the duo to maintain their composure. 

 

“Final warning Agent Barton. If you do not comply with my orders you will be taken down. This is your final chance to come quietly and not get put on your face in front of your Guide.”

 

Clearly not throwing gasoline on a fire had been missed from the STRIKE team genius’ training. Any mention of, or glance towards, Darcy just made both Sentinels angrier. If Clint had been Logan his claws would have popped, if Jane had been Emma then the idiots brain might have exploded, as it was they simply hunkered down even lower and focused on their targets.

 

“STRIKE team Eta, stand down.”

 

They turned to look towards the new voice, the Sentinels did not.

 

“Authorisation Code?”  
“Code niner-niner-seven-alpha-delta.”  
“Acknowledged.”

 

Most of the team put up their weapons and stepped back, but the leader did not, turning his gun instead to the new arrivals.

 

“You do not have the full picture Agent, and you cannot command my men.”

 

Phil simply crossed his arms and watched as Melinda came up behind him, pushed his knee sideways and took the rifle from him before tossing it to one of the women.

 

 

“The code should have been, don’t point a team or a weapon at a feral Sentinel asshole. Especially not the one that’s my child.”

 

Eyes widened under the shade of ball-cap peaks and two of the STRIKE force glanced at each other in shock.

 

“Is that the Cavalry?”  
“I think so.”  
“Do not use that name about her.”

 

The two thought they had been quiet, there was a Sentinel there – and they were talking about his mother. Clearly the whole lot of them needed retraining. Meanwhile, Phil had walked to the now kneeling Agent and was standing over him with a tablet in his hands.

 

“Agent Burns.”

 

He looked down and flicked off his STRIKE ball-hat so he could look at him closely. A long slow glare and Phil turned back to his tablet.

 

“Well Agent, it looks like you really screwed the pooch this time.”  
“What?”  
“Trying to take over past two senior Agents, stepping between a bonding Sentinel and Guide, threatening a Guide in front of their Sentinel, asking a team to attack a Senior Agent…. I could go on but I think I’ll leave that pleasure to STRIKE Lead Rumlow and Director Fury. They are waiting for you in New York.”  
“Why?”  
“Well, for a start you just lost your lead and you are going back into training. Rumlow is going to be supervising you on his team, breath wrong and you’re his.”  
“I do not need to re-train. This is bullshit.”  
“This is a direct order, signed by Director Fury and Councilman Pierce.”  
“All this is just Sentinel fuckery.”

 

He popped up from his knees and threw a small glass vial at Clint’s feet. No-one could react quickly enough to catch it before it landed and, as he had been fully dialled up in a near feral state, Clint went down. The scent of rotten egg and volcanic eruptions filled the air, even the mundanes stepped away from the stench. Crouched over and gagging the Sentinel focused on the yellow crystals that had been floating in the neon sludge and double zoned. 

 

Darcy darted forward from the windows, pushing past the gaping Agents to reach her Sentinel. Melinda ran to their side, kicking Agent Burns into the dust as she went by, and slung one of her son’s arms over her shoulder as Darcy took the other and they took the archer inside the car showroom. Eric closed the door behind them and leaned on it, Viking heritage rising as he almost dared any of the mixed paramilitary present to try and get in.

 

Phil nodded at two of the STRIKE team and they came forward and zip-cuffed their former leaders hands and feet before hauling him into an SUV. Three others climbed in as well and the vehicle took off for the base. Checking his tablet again Phil looked up to the fuming scientist who was pacing back and forth in front of the plate windows that held her laboratory.

 

“We can provide them a space for nesting at the base. There is a team sorting it to Sentinel standard as we speak.”

 

The tiny woman stopped and stared at him in shock, disbelief painted across her delicate features.

 

“No, unacceptable.”  
“Please explain Dr Foster.”  
“Sentinel Barton has restraint marks on his wrists and I’m guessing elsewhere considering how he is holding himself…”  
“Really?”  
“Astrophysics PhD perhaps, but still a Sentinel Agent Coulson. I’ve been trained, even if I don’t qualify for full status.”  
“I am not denying your experience.”  
“Then listen. He had damage and a team he was allegedly in command on just tried to separate a newly discovered pair… and you think I should let you take them? Take them away from me? From us?”  
“He is part of my pack.”  
“No. Not at all – you are a part of his. If you do not see the difference then you fail him and I will not allow you to fail her.”

 

Phil was taken aback, not many had the backbone – or the cojones – to stand up to him in the way the slight scientist was doing. He frowned slightly, trying to see her angle.

 

“She is my pack Agent Coulson. There is no Sentinel/Guide centre here, no lead Guide to speak for her – so I will. I have concerns about SHIELD, about everything that has happened here.”  
“About Barton?”  
“No, there is no doubt about him. I trust Darcy and her instincts totally, I do not trust you.”  
“It’s alright Janey, stand down.”

 

Darcy emerged from the inside, leading a muddled Clint who was leaning on his Āmā but fully aware once more. The upbeat intern bounced over to her boss and threw an arm over her shoulders.

 

“You intimidating people again boss? Thought you were saving it all for the dicks who thought you were too pretty to be a scientist.”  
“Oh, that’s fun… this is business.”  
“Business, pleasure… you need to rein it in a little.”  
“Ahem, Guide Lewis?”  
“Agent I-Pod thief, you’re here.”  
“How is Agent Barton?”  
“I’m here Phil, stinky and upset and apparently hanging onto my mom in public but here.”

 

Phil slid his tablet into his jacket and headed to his agent, he had to check on Clint personally before going any further.

 

“You OK?”  
“She’s amazing.”  
“You’re a little altered.”  
“Guide.”  
“Alright then… Mel?”  
“Yeah?”  
“According to records – you have the call.”  
“What?”  
“You’re still next-of-kin, what happens next is up to you.”  
“Guide?”

 

Darcy came over to her plaintive Sentinel and gently touched his bare chest, she hadn’t much regretted the need to strip him of his uniform shirt to rid him of the reek. She shivered with the contact, if his mother hadn’t needed to help him in they would already be bonding – regardless of the huge plate glass wall that faced the main street.

 

“We need to bond Agent Coulson. My shields are weakening, ready to let him in – his senses are looking for me. His feral state earlier and then the mix of sulphur and shit that your Agent threw at him is sending him seeking.”  
“He was also feral when the Destroyer landed.”  
“Before we met?”  
“Guide!”  
“Melinda?”  
“Not the base, he is totally focused on her and this place is saturated with her scent. There is an inner room here that is safe for them. We can watch, I’m sure that Sentinel Foster will help.”  
“Damn straight.”  
“OK, then… bonding… this’ll be some e-mail.”

 

Darcy slid into Clint’s embrace and quivered with need, sniffing his broad chest as though she were the Sentinel. 

 

“Let’s bond Sentinel.”

 

@-;---

 

To: Director N Fury  
From: Agent Coulson 

Marcus

Well, they’ve bonded. It’s been some week. Clint’s hearing has come back – he is officially Alpha Prime for SHIELD, we’ll see about his National Ranking when we get back.

Guide Lewis has agreed to join SHIELD, if we fund her studies to completion (this could take some time BTW). Assigned codename Antiope, Amazon Queen in Mythology and it means Voice.

Phil

 

@-;---

 

To: Director N Fury  
From: Agent Coulson 

Natasha came.

She really likes Darcy.

They’ve bonded.

We’re doomed.

 

@-;---


End file.
